


what makes a monster of a man

by kemia



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Battlefield, Blood, Capture, Death, Decapitation, Ferdinand has a Moral Crisis, Impalement, M/M, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 19:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20894990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kemia/pseuds/kemia
Summary: ferdinand believes himself to be an upstanding man, until hubert is in danger and he loses control.





	what makes a monster of a man

**Author's Note:**

> I’M REALLY PROUD OF THIS SO THANK YOU FOR READING!!! follow my twitter @vestraegir for more ferdiberts
> 
> i love feral ferdie

Three of them ambushed Hubert.

First, the damned mage silenced his magic and left him powerless, unable to wield anything but his own worthlessness in his empty hands. He envisioned spikes, envisioned death and carnage, but it was only imagined.

A second placed a firm kick into his back, forcing him to the ground with a piteous cry for a man of his stature, his presence. A third quickly pounced, digging his knee into the count’s spine, yanking his head up by his hair and sliding the brunt of a sword against his Adam’s apple.

“Alright, you Imperial scum. Now watch as we flay your commander down to nothing but blood and bone. Or don’t - run along to your emperor and let her know where she can find her prized general’s corpse. Your choice.”

Ferdinand’s attention jerked to the horrific words, his entire world deteriorating at the image of Hubert - bloodied with eyes welded shut in pain, his lips curled in a way that read to the Aegir noble as admitting defeat and accepting due misery and death.

It reminded him so vividly of the expression the man had worn when he had called him a lapdog and a monster so many years ago. But Ferdinand knew, no matter how evil a man’s actions might be, there was no true monster in the world who would respond to such a claim with _“Yes, I know.”_

His vision grew red and spotty. His noble blood boiled, his skin alight with the sensation of needles, all yearning for a taste of the flame inside him.

He had maybe seconds before they made a spectacle of cutting his beloved’s throat, of making him unrecognizable. He would act now - a plan be damned. Ferdinand cared not if his flesh was riddled with spears and arrows. He cared not if his entire being was torn asunder, and if he was scattered like ashes to the wind.

Hubert would live. That was everything.

Even so, he was careful and quiet about dismounting his horse, giving her a gentle, soundless pat so she would stay put among the brush. Beautiful things like her did not need to witness the wickedness that lay within him.

The moment his feet touched the ground, however, he lost all of himself - or, what he assumed to be himself.

Ferdinand’s knuckles blanched as the grip on his sword, already bloodied from battle, grew impossibly tight. In opposition to all forces of weight and strength and armor, he bolted from between the trees, managing to contain his blinding rage to his footsteps against the earth. He made hardly a sound as he swiftly drew the blade across the neck of the scoundrel who had forced Hubert to the ground. His head and body fell cleanly to the dirt in a bloodied heap, and Ferdinand finally exhaled.

The one holding Hubert against the ground, at the sensation of liquid warmth, turned his head back.

“What the h-”

The rest was a garble of tortured sound as the sword entered through his back, extending through the front of his torso. Ferdinand made his corpse like a puppet on a string, using the sword inside him to pick him up and fling him aside, effectively setting Hubert free.

“... Ferdinand?”

But he doesn’t respond to his beloved, still clutching at the grass. His eyes darkly drift toward the mage standing at a distance, pale like death.

“If you value your shallow, disgusting heart remaining in your chest, you’ll flee. You’ll flee and tell whatever vile cur that stands above you that they’ve invoked the wrath of the von Aegir bloodline. You’ll tell them to come after _me_, for I will have no hesitation in spilling every ounce of their blood, until the earth itself turns red.”

And flee they did, quickly retreating until they became nothing but a speck on the edges of the battlefield. Other soldiers fled immediately, while some saw the deaths of their leaders in such a cold-blooded fashion and took their cowardice with them.

In their haste to exit, Hubert pulled himself from the ground, surveying the carnal wreck around him. More importantly, he saw the sun in his life standing there, breathing heavily with eyes fixated upon his feet, his usually effervescent light burning in a way he had never seen.

It almost made him afraid. And anything that could frighten Hubert von Vestra was truly something to fear.

“Ferdinand,” he called out again, rising to his feet. He could feel dampness seeping into the back of his clothes, but he chose not to think about its source. “Ferdinand, look at me.”

The redhead finally focused on Hubert’s face. His eyes lingered, lifeless for a while. Slowly, surely, the sight of his love safe before him reawakened his senses.

He felt the blood on his hands. On his face. He saw all the blood that clung to Hubert like a curtain of death … One he had created himself.

Yet, he did not feel remorse as he knew he should. Circumstances aside, taking lives was not something to relish in. Never in his life had he been truly proud to kill. He had been proud to serve the Empire, he had been proud of being a beacon of strength, but never had the pride been solely in the hunt.

The adrenaline that had coursed through him caught up in his moment of recollection. Ferdinand’s body began to shake, and he might have fallen over had Hubert not moved to his side, pulling him into an embrace.

“I’m fine. It’s over now,” Hubert soothed, uncharacteristically sweet after what had just occurred. Ferdinand’s soiled hands dropped his sword and gripped Hubert’s arms, lifting his gaze up to connect their eyes.

“Anyone who tries to hurt you… I’ll eviscerate them. I’ll gladly tear them apart, limb from limb if I must.” Ferdinand drew in a shaky breath. He wanted to cry, for some reason. It was a deep desire, one that was buried so far in the moment that he couldn’t manage tears. “What does that mean of me? Have I just been… masquerading for the sake of my own pride? Am I... Am I a monster?”

He felt Hubert’s lips touch gently against his forehead, a gloved hand resting on the back of his head to pull him in close.

“Do you remember what you said to me the night I confessed my feelings for you?”

He did. Ferdinand couldn’t possibly forget - the moon had drawn behind Hubert, masking his face in shadow.

_“I’ve murdered countless people,”_ he’d said. _“Bathed in the blood of my enemies, all for the sake of Lady Edelgard’s ambitions. Could you possibly love a monster like myself?”_ He’d uttered the word from his past so tenderly, baring his vulnerable side for only Ferdinand.

And Ferdinand… he’d taken Hubert’s hand in his own, and gently replied, _“No true monster has ever called himself one.”_

Those words echoed through his mind. The tears he wanted finally came, and he buried his face in Hubert’s shoulder, grateful that he had such a man still at his side, whether the both of them were secretly monsters or not.

“...I’m just… I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“Thanks to you.”


End file.
